


doesn't mean that i wasn't brave

by FeralPen



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexuality, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Post-Punisher, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 02:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralPen/pseuds/FeralPen
Summary: After everything is over, he can’t sleep.Afghanistan, war, torture, those he was able to handle. The truth about his family’s murder? That doesn’t go down easy. He's got Karen, but there's something missing there.Frank wanders New York City after everything, meets more vigilantes, and eventually finds love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm home sick today, so I'm coughing out a Frank/Karen/Matt story. As with all my stories, all of the Defenders and Defenders-adjacent characters pop up, though I've tried to keep it contained this time. Really. For real this time.

After everything is over, he can’t sleep.

Afghanistan, war, torture, those he was able to handle. The truth about his family’s murder? That shit doesn’t go down easy.

Karen’s great. She’s wonderful. Every burner phone he gets, the first thing he does is contact her. She’s a rock, steady in the shitstorm his life always is. He knows it’s a bad idea, knows that being tied to a man like him is a death sentence, but she doesn’t give him a choice. Those steely cold eyes of hers and those warm smiles and that pretty floral perfume with an undertone of steel and gun oil. It’s intoxicating. It’s home.

He can’t bother Karen all the time, though. Not every night that he wakes up screaming and sweating with his blood boiling with fight or flight. She doesn’t need that shit. So, just a month after being granted his fresh start, he’s hitting up the streets again, busting knuckles on dipshits and putting down scumbags. He can’t give it up at this point. He’s too far gone. Karen just nods at him solemnly with her old, sad eyes. She doesn’t try to stop him. It’s never worked.

Strangely, he thinks of Red. What would Red say now, him tearing a swathe through Manhattan without a vendetta to drive him? Just his fists and his pistol, taking down petty criminals like Red and his tight-wearing crew? Would he laugh? Would he spit fire and vitrol at him through those red, red lips and teeth stained with blood?

His feet bring him to Red’s roof.

He thinks Red’s dead. He’s not certain - he hasn’t asked Karen, and she hasn’t volunteered. A scope of the apartment building says it’s certainly not lived in, at least. The papers haven’t mentioned him in months. Logical conclusion, the dumbass got himself killed, finally. It stings more than he’d like to admit. He makes himself comfortable sitting on the edge of the building and pulls a cigarette out for one of his occasional smokes.

The funny thing is that the kid on his tail thinks he’s being stealthy.

“You gonna take your shot, or you gonna wait all day?” he asks as he pulls the cigarette away for a long exhale.

There’s a scuffling sound, then hesitant steps approach and stop a good distance away. Frank rolls his eyes and turns his body. Shit, he really is a kid. Curly mop of hair, pinched expression like he’s trying to look heroic and just and brave. Another fuckin kid who reads too many comic books.

“Who are you?” the kid asks,

“Who’s asking?” Frank takes an infale of his cigarette and smirks.

The kid looks shaken. “I asked you first.”

“What is this, elementary school?” 

The kid just pinches his expression more. “Do you know whose roof this is?”

“I get a feeling that you do,” Frank says instead of answering.

The kid doesn’t seem to know what to do. His hands clench into fists. “Look, man, I don’t want a fight, but you picking this roof to have a smoke on? It’s suspicious.”

“What, you a cop?” Frank sighs and snuffs out the cigarette on the rooftop. “You’ve got a lot of energy, kid, but save it. I’m not here to bust up the place. Just here to reminisce for a minute.”

The kid visibly wavers. His voice is small and hopeful. “Did you… know Matt?”

Interesting. Frank draws a lazy eye over the tightly-wound kid. “You could say that. He was my lawyer.” He lets the kid get a straight-on look at his face. It takes the kid way too long to connect the dots.

“You’re the Punisher,” he says in a breathless voice. His fists clench tighter and he drops into a fighting stance. Similar to the fancy shit Red used to do, but Red always fell back into a boxer’s stance. This kid was all kung fu bullshit all the way. “What are you doing here?”

Frank shrugs and takes a gamble. Play dumb, let the kid fill him in. “I’m looking for Red. He around?”

“Red?” The kid’s eyes dart over his face. “You mean Matt? You mean… you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

The kid’s throat bobs. “He’s dead.”

Frank lets his eyes fall half-closed, the only outward sign as he lets that wash over him. He’d figured, but the confirmation still feels uneasy on his stomach. “How?”

The kid’s fists slowly relax. “A while back, that building explosion at Midland Circle? There was a tunnel underneath the building. Matt was in there when the building fell down.”

Frank nods absently. His own hand tightens into a fist.

“My name’s Danny,” the kid offers. “I’ve been looking after Hell’s Kitchen. For Matt. It’s what he wanted.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the asshole died a hero,” Frank says. He’s done listening to this now. “I’m getting out of here, kid. Don’t worry, I won’t be sticking around long. You don’t need to follow me around town.”

The kid doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. He doesn’t follow when Frank starts clambering down the fire escape.

A hero’s death, huh? Frank growls and takes out another cigarette. Stupid Red. Just like him to get his ass killed trying to be a hero. He doesn’t think about how it must have been for him. Did he die instantly? Was he crushed under the rubble for hours or even days until his body gave out? Was he trapped, wandering alone in tunnels so deep that all he could hear was his own voice as he slowly went mad from thirst? He doesn’t think about it.

He loses himself in the city until the city coughs up someone to punch.


	2. Chapter 2

His feet keep taking him back to Hell’s Kitchen.

Patterns are dangerous. He knows intimately how complacency is a death sentence. Much as he hates to admit it, though, Hell’s Kitchen is the heart of the matter. Karen lives there. Her job is there. Red’s old, dusty apartment, curated by a kid and left to molder. He even tracks down his other lawyer, the one that actually worked the case while Red fucked off with his superhero bullshit. The husky man doesn’t even notice his tail. Frank doesn’t bother talking to him.

He ditches Hell’s Kitchen for days at a time, wandering the other boroughs, tracking down organized crime in other areas. He has bolt-holes all over the city - Brooklyn, Queens, Midtown, Harlem, even hangs around the arts district sometimes, sees some celebrities. His feet keep taking him back to Hell’s Kitchen.

The scratching in his brain never stops. Lieberman keeps calling him, trying to drag him into his beautiful, normal life. It itches and burns and he ignores the calls. Maria and the kids is still too fresh, will always be too fresh. He smokes more and is more reckless. He’s got a shiner tonight, which makes him all the more conspicuous. It’s a bad night. He risks going out one more time for a bodega run, buy a bottle of something cheap that could strip paint and maybe help him forget for just one night. Just one night of sleep.

It’s a shitty little shop, just on the edge of run-down and skeevy. The cashier has a gun under the counter, but he doesn’t look brave enough to use it. Frank ignores him, finds the liquor. There’s a woman there, leather jacket and the same sleepless look on her face, mirror to his own. She shifts aside to make room for him, but they’re both reaching for the bottom shelf whisky. Frank tips his ballcap to her silently. He’s distracted by the candy bars for a second, considering. Long enough for some asshat with shaky hands to work up the courage to hold up the place.

Frank rolls his eyes and sets his bottle down. He’s ready to creep up on the guy and knock his gun away, but he hears a growl of frustration.

“Fucking again, really?” The woman from the liquor aisle is still standing straight in the man’s line of fire. She doesn’t look scared. She just looks annoyed. She grabs a case of beer and chucks it - one-handed - at the robber’s head. It hits him with enough force to knock him over on his ass. She strolls down the aisle, grabs the gun, and breaks it into pieces with her bare hands.

Frank is impressed despite himself.

The bodega owner isn’t. 

“You’re going to pay for the busted beers, right?” he says. 

The sneer the woman gives him is impressive. “Just call the cops. Come on, you know the drill.”

Frank makes his entrance then. He unobtrusively moves past them and pulls some zip ties out of his hoodie pocket, ties the guy’s hands. The woman is giving him a sharp look.

“Look at that, a regular boy scout,” she says.

Frank shakes his head. “Nah, ma’am, just in the right place at the right time.”

“Like that ever happens.” The woman is still eyeing him suspiciously. She plunks her bottle on the counter and digs for her wallet. Frank beats her to it, throwing enough bills on the counter for both of their bottles. The woman’s eyebrows rise up, but she doesn’t argue. They exit the bodega together.

“So what is Frank Castle doing in Hell’s Kitchen?”

Frank pauses at that. The woman is smirking at him. A little brighter than the mop-headed boy, that’s for sure.

“What? I read the papers,” the woman said. “I’m not stupid. And I also know you’ve been around. Danny says you were on Murdock’s roof a few weeks ago. Sentimental?”

Frank chews on his words carefully. The woman’s sharp expression never wavers. She strikes him as almost like Karen for a moment. If Karen stripped away all of the affectations of femininity she swathes herself in, the camouflage she wears so nobody sees her claws. This woman is just as sharp and beautiful and cruel, just out in the open for everyone to see. The intensity of it is uncomfortable. He could almost admire this woman, but their abrasive edges grate on one another. He settles for polite. His nonna drilled that into him decades ago.

“I knew Murdock,” he says. “I take it you knew him, too?”

The woman’s sharp edges dull for just a moment. She looks haunted. “I did. For just a few days.”

“He makes an impact, don’t he?” He can almost laugh about it.

The woman’s eyes sharpen again. He feels exposed under her glare. “Yeah, he does. I’m Jessica, by the way. Jessica Jones. I was there, when he…”

Frank nods sharply, shies away from the subject. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Jessica says. She sounds sincere, but uncomfortable. “He was a good man, as far as I gathered.” She eyes him up and down again. ‘And apparently he had a talent for making dangerous people fall in love with him.”

Frank processes her implication and discards it. That doesn’t dignify a response. “I’ll be on my way now, ma’am.”

“Of course you will.” Jessica smirks at him again. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. People like us just can’t seem to stop.”

Frank shakes his head and turns away from her. Jessica doesn’t say anything else. He appreciates that. The woman’s calculating gaze makes his skin crawl. He’ll be investigating her tomorrow, as soon as he’s done drinking this bottle. In fact, finding out the other vigilantes in town is a good angle.

Red really did have a way of pulling people together.


	3. Chapter 3

He fucked up.

Nobody is perfect, not even him, but still, knowing he fucked up doesn’t make it any better. He’s in fucking Harlem of all places, bleeding out in a dumpster, and it’s all because he made one stupid slip and some bastard got a lucky shot in.

The bastard’s dead now. And his friends. 

Get it together, Frank. He sits up and grits his teeth together. He’s had worse. So much worse. Still, being shot isn’t on his top ten list of fun things to try in the city. Getting cocky just gets you dead. He’s been riding on the high of being the Punisher for too long. He’s just a man, and if he doesn’t get his ass in gear, he’s going to die like one.

He hauls himself out, waits a moment for the dizzy stars to clear out of his vision. This fucking sucks. His nearest safehouse is blocks away, and now he’s a big sore thumb in the streets. A man limping along covered in blood draws attention, and the last thing he needs is attention.

He’s still hyper-aware, even injured. He has a gun drawn on the man walking into the lip of the alley before the man even sees him. The man stops, but he doesn’t hold his hands up. He just takes in the scene - dead wanna-be gangsters, blood smeared on the wall of the dumpster, and a sweaty man in a bloody hoodie with a gun trained on him. The man doesn’t even blink.

“You had to bring this shit into Harlem,” the man says instead. Frank recognizes him now. Luke Cage, the assclown wandering around getting shot and catching purse-snatchers. Another one of Murdock’s groupies. “Jones said you were active in the city, but I thought you’d be respectful and keep your business off of my turf.”

Frank wheezes out a chuckle. His gun doesn’t waver, though he knows now it won’t do any good. Best case scenario, the bullet ricochets off of Cage and hits him in the fucking brains for being stupid enough to shoot a bulletproof guy.

“We got turfs now?” he says instead. “Big city, thought you’d appreciate the assist.”

“I don’t need help from murderers.” The big man crosses his arms and scowls. He looks conflicted. “You gonna be okay? Guess you don’t want an ambulance.”

Frank spits to the side and holsters the gun. If Cage wants to kill him, there’s nothing he can do to stop him right now. “I’ll be out of your hair as soon as you step outta my way. I don’t have any issue with you.”

“That’s a first.” Cage looks him up and down again and groans. “Fine. I know a nurse. She helps people like us.”

“People like us?”

Cage rolls his eyes. “Let’s just say you’re not the first vigilante she’s pulled out of the trash. She was Daredevil’s friend, if that means something to you. Rumor has it you knew each other.”

He could be lying. It’s probable. Still, Cage doesn’t look like he’s going to budge, and Frank’s not looking forward to trying to outrun him and risk tearing his insides up with the bullet still in there. The thought of a real nurse cleaning his wounds and not sewing himself up with whisky and dental floss is also tempting. Frank sighs and moves into less threatening body language.

“Fine,” he says. Cage nods and leads him through Harlem, weaving around the main crowded areas before they end up at an apartment complex. Cage gives him one more assessing look before sighing. Frank is amused by how torn he is about this.

“Before we go up,” Cage says. “You do anything to threaten this woman, you even breathe funny in her direction, I will end you. Your cute little guns won’t save you. I will snap you in half like a twig.”

“Relax, boss,” Frank says easily. “I don’t hurt women, I don’t hurt innocents, and I definitely don’t hurt the people stitching me back together. Scout’s honor.”

Cage still doesn’t trust him, but he lets him up. They end up at the door of an apartment. The door opening lets out the smell of chilis and incense. The walls he can see are painted colorful. The woman at the door is beautiful, and most of all unfazed by Cage. Her eyes dart to Frank and widen only a little in surprise.

“What did I say about bringing me half-dead vigilantes,” she asks. She lets them in despite her words. “I’m pretty sure I said call an ambulance next time.”

“I can’t call an ambulance for the Punisher,” Cage says quietly. Frank notes their body language. They’re lovers. Cage brought the Punisher to see his girl. It’s a miracle only Red died during their little adventure. These idiots were going to get killed.

“He’s a killer,” the woman says. “He should be in jail.”

“That didn’t work out so good last time,” Cage says reasonably.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Frank says from where he’s still leaning on the doorjam. “I was just wondering if maybe you could pull the bullet out of my gut, ma’am. If not, I can go.”

The woman makes a show of looking tempted, but Frank’s seen nurses like her before. He’s not leaving until she’s satisfied she’s done everything she could for him. She ushers him into the kitchen, has him lie on the tile.

“I should have left Matt in the trash that day,” she’s saying to herself. “My life would still be normal.”

Frank is already pulling his hoodie off and his shirt up. “Did you really pull Red out of the trash?”

The woman laughs despite herself. “I did. That’s what started this whole mess for me.”

“Well, I appreciate your help, ma’am.” Frank smiles at her, the smile that Karen says is disarmingly earnest. The woman smiles back reflexively and keeps digging into her kit.

“You know, you’ve killed a lot of people,” she says to him.

“I know.” He doesn’t say anything else.

The woman peers at him closer and sighs. “You don’t regret it. Of course. I’m an idiot. Why do I do this to myself?” She keeps muttering as she preps her makeshift triage unit. Cage is an intimidating shadow in the background.

“Claire,” he says. “You need anything?”

Claire shakes her head. “I’ve got this.”

Frank grits his teeth and lets her poke and prod at the wound. He keeps an eye on her, makes sure she doesn’t inject him with anything other than a local anaesthetic around the injury. Her movements and neat and precise, clearly professional. He nearly lets himself relax.

“So,” Claire says with deceptive casualness. “Red’s a cute nickname.”

Frank gives her a flat look. He doesn’t answer.

Claire shrugs at him. “Hey, just asking. It doesn’t really fit the tough guy thing you have going. You must have liked Matt a lot.”

“Not really,” Frank says shortly. “You gonna pull the slug out or not?”

“Okay, tough guy.” She digs the forceps in. He grits his teeth and doesn’t give her the satisfaction of a pained groan. “Just making conversation.”

“Claire, leave the crazy vigilante alone,” Cage says from beyond Frank’s field of vision.

Claire just hums - not quite agreeing or disagreeing. Her forceps wiggle in a little deeper. Frank wheezes his breath carefully through his nose. “Sorry, I’ve almost got it.” Almost got it seems to mean twenty more seconds of agony before she’s ripping the bullet out of his gut.

“I’m going to disclaim for the room,” she says as she flushes the wound and starts ripping open packets of gauze. “That you should really go to the hospital. You’re going to be dead if something goes wrong, so you can’t sue me, but for real, there’s a million things that can go wrong with kitchen floor triage.”

“I’m aware,” Frank says. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re fine until you’re dead,” she says sternly. Her hands are still firm and gentle. They thread a needle expertly, no shaking at all. “You crime-fighting guys, you’re all the same. Think you’re invincible.”

“You’re smart, then,” he says quietly. The anaesthetic dulls the stab of the needle. He barely feels it. “Hooking up with the only one who is.”

The nurse pauses in her sewing to give him a contemplative look. She looks away - back to the hole in his body. “Yeah, I guess. No one’s invincible, though. I worry.”

“Worrying won’t do nothing,” Frank says. He feels almost calm here. The nurse has that effect. Gentle, fierce, feminine, it reminds him again of Karen. It prompts a little honesty. “You can’t save everybody, can’t worry so much you never leave yourself open. Fuck, I know that. When you’ve got it, got the opportunity to feel that, you’ve gotta take it. Gotta hold on as long as you can because the one true thing is that none of it is forever. We’re all walking towards being dead every day, just the ones like us out there fighting the scumbags of the earth, we’re running for it. And when you’re running towards the bullets, you’ve gotta love even harder when you’re safe, when you can. So yeah, maybe you worry, maybe you know bulletproof don’t mean shit when there’s so much else out there, but I applaud you, ma’am, for doing it anyway. That’s it. That’s bravery.”

Claire sits back on her heels and looks down at him, stunned. After a moment, she clears her throat and ties off the last stitch. “That was… unexpectedly deep. You’re a surprising man, Mr. Castle.”

“I’m just honest. I try not to bullshit.”

“Then maybe take your own advice and stop bullshitting yourself,” she says. He turns his head to frown at her. She looks unfazed. “It’s a good speech, but a blind man could see that you’re torn up about something. Is there someone in your life you’re not going after?”

He shakes his head, but it’s not a denial. More like trying to shake off a fly. Claire nods like she understands something now.

“You’re a criminal, a murderer, probably the scariest man I’ve ever patched up,” she says. She pats the dressing down and starts cleaning up. “That said, I must be crazy trying to find rapport with you, but you seem… decent. In a way guys with your reputation usually aren’t. So, Frank Castle, I hope you find what you’re looking for, and I hope you don’t end up back here on my ktichen floor.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Frank drags himself upright and pulls his bloody shirt down. He’s surprised when Cage walks closer and holds a fresh hoodie into his line of sight. Frank looks at him incredulously, but takes the sweater.

Cage shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s a little big, but take it. I buy in bulk.”

“Thanks.” Frank pulls it on, zips it up. He feels like a little kid putting on his dad’s clothes, but it’s not covered in blood like the one he had.

“I can’t let you walk around out there covered in blood,” Cage says. Claire gives him a warm smile that hurts Frank’s heart to look at. He busies himself helping pick up the wrappers left behind from his care.

“I’ll be on my way,” he says. “Thanks again for your help.”

“Just stay out of Harlem, man,” Cage says. He crosses his arms and puffs up. 

Claire ruins it by putting a gentle hand on his arm and smiling. “Probably a good idea, but if you ever need help, get hurt badly, you can come back. I’m used to patching up vigilantes at all ungodly hours of the night.” She scribbles a phone number on a little notepad that has half a grocery list written on it and forces it into his hand.

“Thank you ma’am,” Frank says. He lets himself out before he can invade their space any longer.

More of Red’s friends, he thinks to himself as he walks off to his Harlem bolt-hole, Luke Cage be damned. He’s pleased, he realizes. He’s glad Red had these friends in his life. He’s glad he wasn’t left alone to patch his wounds, that he had Claire to care for him. He realizes he likes them - or Claire at least.

He resolves to stay away from Harlem.


	4. Chapter 4

Karen Page is a magnetic force. No, scratch that. She’s like the moon, and he’s the stupid goddamn tide, pulled in by her gravity.

He’s a fool for her. It grates on him. She sunk her claws in deep when he was vulnerable, and now he can’t say no to her. All she has to do is bat her eyelashes at him, grab his arm with those surprisingly strong hands of hers, and he’s swept away. Powerless. It should be a goddamn indignity. 

He can’t bring himself to complain.

They’re both wounded animals. Kindred souls stuck in the middle of this cursed island full of corruption and bullshit, packed in like cattle into the stockyards of the city. But they’re not cattle. Karen’s one of the few people he’s met who can play the system. She’s so pretty and soft and kind that no one expects it when she goes in for the kill.

She makes a hell of a journalist.

This time he’s the damn fool caught in her game. One phone call, one tiny hiccuping hint of tears, and he’s taking the night off at some dive bar, sharing a bottle of truly foul liquor with her.

“Thanks for this,” she says. Her flush is high on her cheeks. She’s had more than he had thought she’d be able to handle. “A night off, no killing people or writing up stupid fluff pieces about school cafeterias.”

Frank shrugs uncomfortably and pours them some more shots. His head is swimming, and the teetering intoxication is making him anxious. This place is too exposed. “You asked, so I came.”

Karen throws back her shot with enthusiasm and shudders at the foul taste. Frank follows suit and has to agree. The bartender must cut the whisky with battery acid. 

“It’s hard sometimes,” she says. “You’re - You’re like the only one I can talk to. Nobody else… Nobody else _gets it_ like you. You know what I mean?”

He nods. He does know.

“It’s been six months,” she says. He throws her a questioning glance. She nods like he’s agreed. “Matthew Murdock, amiright?”

Frank pours another round. “What about ‘im?”

Karen takes her shot and doesn’t drink. Her flushed face has the dopey confusion of a drunk. “Matt. You’re in love with him, too, right?”

He coughs over his shot, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. “Why do people keep saying that?”

She nodded sagely at him. “It’s your face. It gets all soft and sad when you think about him. There! There it is again. You can’t hide from me, Frank.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not? He’s got a great ass. Had. Had a great ass. He was an ass.” To Frank’s horror, her eyes were filling up with big, ugly tears. “He’s dead now, so I can’t even yell at him for being an ass. I should have… I didn’t yell at him enough. Maybe if I did, he wouldn’t have… Or maybe if I was more understanding?”

Frank shakes his head frantically and takes her hand from the table in his own. “Hey, hey, Karen, no. Listen. No, it’s not your fault he died.”

The big ugly tears were pouring down her face now. “No?”

“No,” he says firmly. “He made his choices. It’s not your fault.”

She nods and leans towards him. He stands up and gently tugs her to her feet. 

“I think it’s time to take you home,” he says. “We’ve had enough.”

She nods again. She’s unsteady on her feet as they weave out of the dive bar. Frank holds her steady and flags down a cab while she pulls off those ridiculous shoes of hers. She’s warm in his arms. The whiskey burn mingles with her floral perfume and a hint of sweat. The cab rolls to a stop. Karen tugs on his arm.

“Come with me,” she says. “Come on.”

He wants to argue, but she’s so soft and warm and open and he doesn’t trust anybody - hates the thought of her being out here like this without him to protect her. Too many scumbags. He nods dumbly and lets her pull him into the cab.

The cab driver doesn’t try to talk, and neither do they. They just sit there and breathe. Frank’s head is still spinning. He keeps his eyes on the driver and on the streets, though. Trust nobody. The driver takes them to the right building. He tips the man, carefully helps Karen out of the cab, makes sure she has her purse and shoes. She tugs him up to the steps and he helps her up. They’re both unsteady. She drags at him harder until they’re at her door. She fumbles her keys into the lock.

“I should go,” Frank says.

Karen drops her keys.She curses and turns away from it, to Frank. She presses her body along his, tucks her head against his neck.

“Stay,” she says.

Frank is weak. He can’t. Her perfume fills his nose, he smells the floral scent of her shampoo from her hair. Karen pulls away to pick up the keys and open the door. Frank follows her inside dumbly.

“Please stay,” Karen says. She has his hand in hers, she pulls him towards her bedroom. Her face is flushed. Frank’s head spins.He follows.

“Karen,” he says.

“Frank,” she answers. Her hands come up to cup his face. Her thumbs stroke over his cheekbones. Her eyes bore into his. “Please stay,” she says again.

“Okay,” he says. That’s all she needs to hear. Frank blinks and her mouth is on his, and he’s kissing her back, his hands buried in her long, soft hair. Her mouth is soft. It tastes like whiskey and chapstick. She melts under his hands. 

They fumble at each other’s clothes and somehow find themselves on the bed. Her perfume fills his nose again. Her room smells like lavender candles, her sheets just smell like her. None of it reminds him of Maria. That thought should sting, he thinks, but he just feels relieved. Their mouths hardly break apart from kissing.

They’re both drunk. He’s not sure what sex they may have managed to have, not sure if they even get that far. It all becomes a blur in his memory, but he remembers Karen’s eyes, her arms pulling him closer. He remembers her asking him to stay.

So he does.


	5. Chapter 5

Nothing is the same after that.

He wakes up in Karen’s bed with Karen in his arms. Sunlight peeks through cracks in the curtains. The room smells like lavender and sweat. 

They are both so hungover.

Frank gets up first, stumbles to the kitchen naked to fill two glasses with water. Karen’s fumbled some aspirin out of her nightstand when he gets back. He takes the offered pills and trades her for some water. He catches Karen’s eye as they both knock their glasses back. Karen cracks first, pulling her glass aside to laugh.

“So, that happened,” she says.

“I’m not sure _what_ happened,” Frank says.

“Well, whatever happened,” Karen says blithely. “I don’t regret it. Do you?”

He can’t say he does. He says as much.

“Let’s take a shower,” Karen says decisively. “And then we’re getting something greasy for breakfast. And so much coffee.”

He smiles at her, because she has the best ideas sometimes. He lets her drag him into the shower. He can’t remember the last time he took a shower with someone. It’s been an age. Karen’s water pressure is weak, and she likes the shower hotter than he does, but he’s happy. She runs her fingers over his skin, trailing over scars and old bruises. She kisses a few. He in turn watches her wash her long hair, trails his hands over her slick skin with reverence. The pounding headache and nausea can’t dull how beautiful she is. She smiles at him. She’s young and pretty and ruthless and she’s with him. He really can’t complain.

They still don’t do much in the way of fooling around. His stomach is turning in knots, Karen keeps wincing at bright lights. They’re a disaster. She kisses him hard, though, with promise of more later. He pulls yesterday’s clothes on and watches her pick a long, soft skirt and a comfortable sweater. She trades her heels for ballet flats. Every movement is so decisive and crisp. He gets up and makes her bed, and they leave her apartment for a diner to get their greasy breakfast and black coffee.

“It feels kind of inevitable,” she says over her coffee cup. “Doesn’t it?”

He nods. He’s still a little blown away with how happy he is. It’s making his head itch. Karen snaps his attention back to her effortlessly. She smiles.

“I wasn’t sure if this was where we were going,” she says. “Your signals were a little… mixed.”

“I’ve always cared about you,” Frank says. “I just thought you were Murdock’s girl.”

Her expression shutters. She’s suddenly very busy with the jam packets. “Yeah, so did I. But he’s… not here.”

“So I’m second choice?” He doesn’t mean the words to be biting, but she flinches anyway. “Karen, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s fair.” She meets his eyes. “I care about you, Frank. Even if Matt were here, I would still… I’ve always cared about you, Frank.”

Murdock’s absence makes this whole conversation moot. He offers her his hand and she takes it. He gives her a tentative smile.

“What changed?” she asks. “You’ve never gone for it before. What happened to protecting me?”

“I still want that. I still want you to be safe.” He shrugs his shoulders. “This is a bad idea. But I can’t keep bullshitting myself. I care about you, and I want you. You’re a grown woman. You know exactly what you’re getting into. If you want out, you can, but if you’re willing to take the risk…”

 

“Frank,” she says. Her hand squeezes his, and she smiles. “Let’s go for it. What the hell? No regrets.”

“None,” he says, and he means it.

He stays at Karen’s apartment some nights. Most nights he stays out and hunts down the people who prey upon the weak, brings his own brand of justice to the streets. The other vigilantes clear a wide berth around him, but that’s fine. Better than Red with his preaching and his meddling - always fucking up his ops. He tells himself it’s better. He punches until his knuckles are raw, kills efficiently, comes home to Karen with cordite on his hands and blood in his clothes. She takes him back every time. She knows who he is, what he does, but she accepts it. There’s an unspoken agreement that they don’t talk about the people he kills. She never covers him in the news. It works.

Karen herself is a joy he hadn’t ever thought he would find after his family. She can’t sing on-key, her coffee is terrible, and she hasn’t made an omelette yet that she hasn’t burned. Her skin and hair are soft and always smell nice. He gets a kick out of watching her pick her clothes in the morning, all of her ridiculous heeled shoes and blouses and skirts. He knows she’s an animal just like him, but she looks so pretty in her clothes. She tucks her .38 into her purse each morning, kisses his cheek and asks him to lock up before he leaves. He has a key now. He can’t quite believe it.

He tries his best to make her as deliriously happy as she makes him. He cleans the apartment when she’s at work, sometimes has some of his nonna’s family recipes ready when she gets home. He kisses her like a man drowning. He tries, and she keeps him. He is so happy.

He comes home one night, late, to find her sitting at the kitchen table. There’s a bottle of wine on the table, nearly empty. She doesn’t look up when he comes in.

“What’s wrong?” His gun is out before he thinks it through. He’s already canvassing the apartment. It’s just him and Karen. 

“Sit down, Frank,” she says.

He obeys her, sitting opposite. His gut sinks. “You gonna tell me what’s up?”

She sniffs and finally looks at him. Her eyes are red with the remnants of tears. She takes a deep breath.

“He’s alive, Frank.”

He knows. He knows who she must mean, but he still says, “Who?”

“Matt Murdock.” She shudders and pours the last of the wine into her glass. “He was here. I’m not crazy - he was real. He’s alive, and he’s back.”

“How?” Frank’s world is tilted strangely on its axis. He can’t quite process this. “Where is he now?”

“He wouldn’t say.” She can’t look at him now. “He said he smelled you here. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.”

“Did he honestly expect you to wait?” Frank shakes himself. He stands. Karen’s startled face tracks his movement. “I’m gonna go find him.”

“What - how?”

“Guy’s got ears like a bat.” He shrugs and heads for the door. “Make enough noise, I’m sure he’ll show up.”

Karen hasn’t moved, but her face is pale. “What are you going to say to him?”

“Haven’t decided.” Frank hesitates and walks back to the table to tilt her face up and kiss her soundly. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

“I trust you,” she says. Her face hardens into lines of determination. “Talk some sense into him if you can.”

“It’ll be like talking to a brick wall,” he replies. They share a stupid smile, and he leaves. 

He goes a few blocks over, closer to Murdock’s old apartment, and climbs a building. He lights a cigarette for the comfort, takes a few puffs. He cups his hands around his mouth and starts yelling. 

“Red! I know you can hear me, Red! Get your ass over here!”

He’s probably pissing off the residents. He doesn’t care. He yells another round into the sky and settles in to wait. His cigarette is nearly a stub by the time he catches a flurry of movement by the edge of the roof. True to form, Murdock melts out of the shadows.

He looks like shit. He’s pale, thin. He’s back to wearing the black pajamas, no horny helmet in sight. Frank hasn’t been this happy to see him ever before. He walks to meet him with long strides. Murdock catches the punch he throws in his hand.

“Good to see you, too, Frank.” His voice is hoarse. He blocks another swing and throws a jab Frank’s way. 

“Why aren’t you dead, asshole?” Frank kicks out, misses, throws another punch.

“You prefer me to be?” Murdock smirks at him, the bastard. It falls off his face when Frank takes another swing at it. “Look, I promise I won’t get between you and Karen.”

“You think that’s what this is about?” He sweeps his legs out, catching Murdock by surprise and nearly knocking him over. “You think I’m pissed because I’m _jealous_?”

“Aren’t you?” Murdock isn’t fast enough to block the next flurry of blows. Frank grabs him by the throat and throws him into the rooftop access door. Frank yanks the bandana off his head, stares into his wildly darting eyes. “Frank -”

“You let her think you were dead,” Frank snarls. “You know how much that shit hurts, Red? Losing people you love?”

“Yes, but -”

Frank shakes him and shuts him up. “You let us _all_ think you were dead. You selfish prick. You let people who love you think you were dead for _nearly a year_.”

“I’m sorry,” Murdock says quietly. “I couldn’t come back. It wasn’t safe.”

“You couldn’t drop a note?” Frank laughs at his own suggestion. He shakes him again lightly and presses in closer. Murdock stiffens in his grip.

“Frank, I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say.” His voice gets more heated. “Really, I’ll stay away. You and Karen won’t even notice I’m here. You two can keep playing house, and that’s fine. It’s fine. But what do you want from me, Frank?”

“Fuck if I know, Red,” Frank says. He leans in and smashes their lips together.

Murdock stiffens even more, but before Frank can pull away, he’s kissing him back. It’s rough - with teeth and tongue and stubble scraping over their faces. Frank crushes him into the brick behind him. They rip apart to pant for air and he’s surprised to realize he’s half-hard just from the kiss. He backs away and lets Murdock stand on his own feet. His face is flushed, and they’re both panting.

“Oh,” Murdock finally says.

Frank scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. He starts walking away.

“Frank?” Murdock sounds lost.

“You should talk to Karen,” he says. He can’t think of anything else to say. He heads back home to her. He promised.

He leaves Murdock flushed and confused on the rooftop.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stirring conclusion of "that fic I decided to write entirely over the course of a day while I had a fever."
> 
> I hope this fic hasn't been complete garbage. Thank you and goodnight.

“So your answer was to kiss him?”

Frank sighs and rubs his eyes. “Yes.”

Karen laughs. She looks shocked. Finally her laughter quiets and she asks, “So was he good?”

Frank groans. “That’s what you ask?”

“Well?”

“Yes,” Frank says shortly. He feels a flush rising to his face and he curses. “Look, I’m sorry Karen. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Karen rubs her own hand over her face and lets out a whooshing sigh. “We need to talk about this, don’t we?”

“Probably,” Frank says. He sounds miserable to his own ears.

“I’ve never done this before. Have you?” She looks very young in this moment. Frank shakes his head. She sighs again. “So, let’s cover some things. You like being with me, right?”

“More than anything,” he says immediately.

She smiles at him warmly. “And I like being with you. These past few months have been amazing. That said, we both have unresolved feelings for Matt.”

“What kinds of feelings?” Frank shrugs at her. “Just asking.”

“Anger, frustration,” she says immediately. “Guilt. Attraction, definitely. I mean, you’ve seen him.”

Frank nods dumbly. Murdock was definitely something.

Karen tugs at a lock of her hair. It’s very late, and she’s tipsy. They should just go to bed, but he’s curious to see how she feels about this. “The simplest solution is we just date Matt.”

He blinks at her. “Can we do that?”

“Is there a rulebook?” She chews on her lip. “I mean, it’s the easiest answer, right? Unless we’re all going to get jealous and fight each other. Let’s think it through. Imagine you walk in and you see me and Matt in bed together. How do you feel?”

He thinks about it perhaps longer than he should. He feels a punch of arousal in his gut. “Um, that sounds like… I feel good, let’s just say that.”

Karen nods, satisfied. “And I already know that I’m very upset that I didn’t get to see you kiss Matt. So, in the morning, we find Matt and date him.”

Frank smiles at that. “Sweetheart, you’re drunk. It won’t be that easy.”

“Well, it should be.” She gives him a regal look. 

He shakes his head and lets her drag him to bed. Her certainty was catching, but he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing ever was.

He tosses and turns for the rest of the night. When he does sleep, he’s plunged into nightmares of gunfire, blood, the music of carousels. He wakes up sweating and shaking. He doesn’t sleep again. He lies in bed and listens to Karen’s even breathing and tries to tell himself everything will be okay.

He spends the next two days trying to track Murdock. The trouble with tracking prey that can hear you coming is that you never even get close. He sleeps in his safehouses, eats canned beans. It’s rougher now that he’s gotten used to sleeping in Karen’s bed, used to making meals in her kitchen. He’s going soft.

He returns on the third day, frustrated. Karen’s at work. He decides to make a lasagna with his free time, since sleep is still elusive and he’s sorry to Karen for running off for two days. He buys fresh bread and a new bottle of wine. He even lights some candles, so when she comes home and toes off her shoes, there’s a candle-lit dinner waiting for her.

“Frank,” she says with laughter bubbling around her words. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” he says. “Just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“Well thank you,” she says. He can see the weight of her worries lifting off her face as she takes in the whole spread. She rushes to him and kisses him deeply. He laughs and pulls away.

“Don’t get too excited. It might not even be good,” he says.

“Trust me, Frank, there is nobody who does better Italian than you,” Karen says.

A knock on the door interrupts them. They both turn to look at it. Frank’s hand reaches for a gun without thinking. Karen waves him off and peeks through the peephole. She lets out a quiet gasp.

“It’s Matt,” she says to Frank. She opens the door.

It is indeed Murdock. He looks better. He’s wearing slacks and a button-up, he’s found his red glasses and cane. He’s gripping the cane in between white knuckled hands. 

“I’m interrupting,” he says. “I should - I should go.”

 

“No!” Karen glances wildly over at Frank, who nods. “No, stay. We’re just about to have dinner.”

“I know.” Murdock adjusts his glasses nervously. “I really shouldn’t be here.”

“Stay,” Karen says. Frank feels a sense of deja vu. Murdock also looks hypnotized by her. Her hand comes out and traces along his clenched knuckles. “We’ll eat and talk.”

Murdock still looks like he’s about to bolt. Frank rolls his eyes. “Get in here, Red.”

That seems to make up his mind. He steps in. Karen’s hand brushes along his arm as he moves past her. She shuts the door decisively.

Frank grabs another plate and glass, sets it at an empty chair. He pulls chairs out for both of them. 

“Sit down,” he says. “It’s gonna get cold.”

Karen trails her hand over Murdock’s shoulder and brushes past him to the table. Murdock’s head follows her like a lost dog. Frank supresses a smile and starts serving.

“Sit. Eat.”

Murdock finally sits. He folds his cane and then his hands in his lap. He looks nervous.

“Matt, we don’t bite,” Karen says. “It’s just dinner. We can talk after. Now eat up. Frank makes the best lasagna in the state, I think.”

“My nonna made better,” he says, but he’s pleased. He pours out the wine between the three of them and watches them take their first bites with a smile. Karen groans enthusiastically. Murdock’s eyebrows raise up.

“It’s good,” he says.

Frank smirks and starts eating. They eat in relative silence. The scrape of forks on plates and the occasional clink of the wine glasses on the table sounds like gunfire in the silence. Karen waits until they’re finished and Frank’s taking the dishes away before she pounces on Murdock.

“So, what did you come over for?”

Murdock tugs at an imaginary tie. He swallows. “Uh, Frank said I should talk to you.”

“Did he?”

“Then he followed me around Manhattan for two days.”

“I see.” She’s smirking. Frank shakes his head and rinses the dishes, stashes the extra in tupperware.

Murdock is sweating now. “Did Frank, um… Did Frank?”

“I told her, Red,” Frank calls. “You can relax.”

He does the opposite. He looks like he’s going to burst a blood vessel with how tense he is. Karen distracts him with a hand on his wrist.

“It’s okay, Matt,” she says. 

“It’s - I don’t think it’s okay,” he says. “I lied to you - repeatedly. I let you think I was dead. And now... “

“Now you’re stealing my boyfriend,” Karen says dryly. “Trust me, Matt, neither of us are happy about the death thing, but you haven’t exactly explained your reasons. They might even be good. But don’t worry about the kissing. I’m not upset. Frank’s not upset. Are you upset?”

Murdock swallows. “Um… no?”

Karen smiles and grabs his wrist tighter. She pulls him towards the living room. Frank dries his hands on a dishrag and follows. He doesn’t want to miss any of whatever Karen had planned.

“Matt, do you still love me?” she asked out of nowhere.

Murdock looks blindsided. “What?”

She’s patient with him. “Do you still care about me?”

“I do,” he says. “But Karen, it’s okay. I’m - I’m glad you and Frank are happy together.”

“Frank,” Karen says without looking away from her victim. “Can you tell Matt how you feel?”

Frank chooses his words carefully. “I love Karen. We’ve been through a lot together. I wouldn’t give her up for anybody. But when you were dead… I missed you. I thought you were an annoying little shit when you were alive, but you left a hole in my life when you died. I don’t like it. And -” he shares a smirk with Karen, “I wanna kiss you again, and Karen wants to watch.”

Murdock swallows again. “This wasn’t - uh - this wasn’t what I was expecting when I came back from the dead.”

“Me either,” Karen says. She brushes past Frank and gently cups Murdock’s face. “Can I kiss you?”

Murdock answers by leaning in and kissing her. Frank can feel his head racing. They’re both so beautiful. He’s pretty sure a bolt of lightning was about to strike him down from the sky for being so greedy.

Karen breaks the kiss and gestures Frank over. He crowds into their bubble. She kisses him passionately. He cracks an eye to see Murdock flushed red. He breaks away from Karen gently to capture those red lips of his in his own. Karen gasps behind him. Murdock crowds closer to him and Frank matches him until their bodies are flush. He drags himself away.

Karen lets out a low whistle. “Well, that answers that question.”

Murdock looks dazed. “You both - you both want me?”

“Yes,” Frank says simply.

“For as long as you’ll have us,” Karen adds. “We’ll make it work.”

Murdock nods. Karen moves closer to him, but Frank interrupts with a gentle cough.

“I have one concern,” he says. They both turn to him and he bites his lip. “I’ve never actually been with a man before.”

Murdock laughs this time. “I couldn’t tell. We can - I can show you. It’s easy.”

Karen is looking at them with hungry eyes. Frank nods, and that’s all the impetus Karen needs to grab their hands and drag them to her bedroom.

They fall into a rhythm after that. 

Murdock takes his apartment back from the curly-headed kid. There’s some drama between him and his former teammates. Frank stays away. Karen keeps her apartment, and it becomes the hub of their strange little threesome. She buys a king-sized bed with silk sheets, and more often than not they all end up tumbled into it in the night. 

Frank loves them both intensely. He knows this like he knows the most basic facts of the universe. He would kill for them, he would die for them.

He and Karen are much the same with the inclusion of Murdock. Frank likes watching them curl up together to talk about their day jobs. Murdock touches Karen like she’s a fragile work of art, and she touches him back just as gently. With Frank she’s more firey, and he lets her be that, though she holds onto him closely in the night to chase his terrors away. 

He and Murdock turn even love-making into a fight. Karen jokes that she’s never sure which bruises came from their vigilantism and which ones came from their makeout sessions. It’s the truth, though. Murdock seems content to keep things this way, taking out all his passions on Frank and saving Karen for gentleness and loving.

It’s strange. It shouldn’t work, but it does.

Frank wakes in the night from more screaming and blood, and they’re there. Karen weasels into his arms to wrap herself in his embrace. Red grumbles and throws an arm and leg over them both. It’s a little too warm, but Frank relaxes into it and feels his eyes closing again.

He’s home.


End file.
